musical talent
by pelokkain
Summary: if you couldn't play the transformers theme, then you probably lacked any sort of musical talent, in sealand's opinion.


When Sealand was walking with someone, he would always wander off; whether it be from England [because he was a jerk who didn't deserve to breathe the same _air_ as Sealand], Wy [because she was always so uptight about every single little thing], Seborga [because he was always flirting with girls, and that was just _gross_]_, _Sweden [because even if he was cool and liked Transformers just as much as Sealand, sometimes he just got really scary], or Latvia [because he was always saying how hard his life was when Sealand's was obviously harder! England was just so _narrow-minded_ about his bedtime, and Latvia would talk about his _economical problems _and other boring things]; usually he'd wander off into a toy store or to America's house [where he would find himself going to Disneyland with the _amazing _country], but today was different.

Instead, Sealand found himself in front of a house - there was music coming from within, piano music; it reminded him of the one time England had attempted to teach him violin - classical music and that sort of stupid old people stuff; regardless, he walked inside - maybe it wasn't safe to go into a stranger's house but he remembered being here once, on a trip with England; he forgot really what it was about, but he was pretty sure.

Sealand followed the music for quite a while; he really was a bored person and maybe the person could play the Transformers theme song, and he could do the singing and they could have their own _band. _It'd be called SEALAND, in all capital letters, except maybe with fancy symbols around it like ~*~SEALAND~*~. Yes. That was a good idea. Educated by Disney Channel, he knew that if he succeeded in the band, he'd be popular, and being popular meant you were _recognized, _as in recognized as a _country. _It was about time, too.

After peeking into a few rooms, the young boy finally found where the music was coming from; he could only see the top of the person's head from behind the large piano, and he greeted loudly as to get noticed among the music, "Hi! My name is Sealand! I'm here to offer you a spot in my totally cool band!"

The piano playing stopped, and a head rose; it was a man who vaguely resembled Italy, with a strand of hair sticking up, slightly curled, although his hair was a much darker shade of brown and his skin rather light.

"Excuse me?" he seemed to be in thought. ". . . oh. You're the micronation . . . forgive me, I've forgotten your name. Canada, is it?"

Sealand felt offended, and curled his lip in distaste, as he had seen England do many times before. It was mildly uncomfortable, as he ended up just pursing his entire mouth and making himself look like a duck. The man looked at him oddly. "No, of course not! I'm the mighty country of Sealand!"

". . . I see." This man spoke in a lot of pauses, didn't he? "Shouldn't you be with England, then?"

"No! That jerk wishes he could be in my presence - anyway, I'm totally independent!"

"Please stop talking so loudly." The man looked rather tired, as he rubbed his forehead. A lot of people do that, Sealand thought; at least, when he saw them. He wondered why. "Now, what is your business here?"

"I was outside and your dumb music was playing so I couldn't concentrate on my - my quest of great importance! It is an international business meeting of the new, grand continent of Sealand, and stuffy old people aren't allowed in there! Yeah! I demand that you say sorry!"

"Dumb music?" the man's eyes widened behind his glasses, then narrowed, and he frowned deeply. "What exactly do you mean by that? That was Chopin, you cretin - as if such a child could recognize his _genius_ - "

"Genius? Haha, sure!" Sealand said with utter maturity. "He's probably a stupid _cretin - "_ the word was odd on his tongue, " - just like you! I bet you can't play the Transformers theme song! That's good music!"

"What? What did you just say?" the man looked ready to smash the piano. "Transformers! Good music! Chopin - not - how very dare you!"

"So you can't play it." Sealand smirked. "I bet you can't! I bet you my allowance you can't!"

"I can!" the man tried to calm himself, straightening and pulling up the collar on his jacket, pushing back his glasses onto his nose; "I can. I simply choose not to play such _juvenile _music - "

"It's not juvenile. It's good. I bet you just can't play it and you're just trying to cover it up!"

The man scowled. "If you're so insistent, I'll play it - but after I do it, you must get out!"

"Fine. If you can even play it _right_. 'Cause old people don't watch Transformers."

"I am not old, I am simply mature - something you obviously cannot understand." The man sighed. "I have heard of the series, yes; when I was looking for a few documentaries on the television, I have flipped past it, and sometimes when Hungary comes here with Italy, they watch it, despite my prote - "

"Play it then! Prove you're not an old geezer, like how you look!" Sealand interrupted.

"Fine!" the man began to play, and as he did, he gradually lost his tension, body relaxing and frown fading, looking at peace; finally he finished the theme song and Sealand stared at him.

"You're _okay_." Sealand said, because, well, he wasn't the _best. _Not without a certain blond's amazing vocals anyway. ". . . maybe you can teach me?"

The man looked surprised, and then relaxed - a smile played by his lips, but it was not all there.

"If you promise to speak more quietly, then yes; I'd prefer not to go deaf." he said. "My name is Austria. It's a pleasure to meet you." and there was some sort of sarcasm there, but Sealand ignored it.

"It's nice to meet you too." Sealand grinned, and stuck out his hand; Austria hesitated, and shook it.


End file.
